


the ending, the beginning (nothing in between)

by asexuelf



Series: Month of Salentine's [22]
Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Cults, Episode 5: Memories and Dreams, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Nightmares, Paranormal, Post-Canon, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, uh. barely akdjsk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22906042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexuelf/pseuds/asexuelf
Summary: Dogma haunts his son long after the final battle.
Relationships: Sal Fisher/Travis Phelps, Travis Phelps & Kenneth Phelps
Series: Month of Salentine's [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620466
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	the ending, the beginning (nothing in between)

**Author's Note:**

> this is easily read as a stand-alone but technically takes place after [the birds still cry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21779353) and [coffee and cream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21833086)
> 
> i realized i haven't written any post-ep 5 fics in ages and i was inspired by the latest chapter of [every venture is a new beginning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337002/chapters/53358193) to write something a little angsty about abuse and loss. its a very good dragon age fic if you happen to be into da!
> 
> without further ado akdjskd warnings for this lil dooble are; death of a parent, grief, religious.. stuff?, nightmares, end of the world/apocalypse, and child abuse
> 
> i hope you enjoy! 💖

It's been months now since the end began, and yet, somehow, Travis' nightmares still find ways to evolve.

They're strange things, these dreams. Visions of sickly green tendrils suffocating him. Inky black wraiths reaching out across the ground, the sky, with clawed hands. His friends, hung to bleed and feed the beast. And Sal, his angel, his savior, lying under the dirt, rotting, rotten, dead. He always wakes in a cold sweat.

Tonight, the dream was different. It did not present itself as a night terror. It didn't present itself as a night terror the first time either as it became a memory.

He's in the church. Back when he still thought it was just a church. Back when a church was simply a house of God, a holy place you can enter to speak words of worship to your creator. Back when your creator was someone to fear and love in equal measure.

Back when you were so young.

Dogma has a hand on his shoulder. It's heavy and so, so big. Everything was so, so big back then. Travis is (was?) a tiny kid and the spider-like fingers of his father's hand resting on his shoulder only drove it home.

No words are spoken. The dream is quiet. Someone is playing the organ, but it makes no sound. The choir sings in shades of silence. Everyone is smiling.

Travis looks up up up at Dad and his so-rare smile and sees God.

Then he wakes. The ceiling is a pale blue in the light from the window and his back sticks to the sheets beneath it.

He isn't shaking this time, but he's definitely sweating. Sal radiates warm beside him, Gizmo purring between his feet, but whether that's the cause or the dream is unknown.

He doesn't want to know. His chest _aches_. After so many years of heartache, he's fought well and hard to ignore the way his heart seems to squeeze between his lungs, as if caught between the rungs of his ribcage, but tonight, he's weak. 

Kenneth Phelps was a man once, wasn't he? Kenneth Phelps was the man that smiled and patted Travis' back and told him _one day, we'll do great things._ Kenneth Phelps was a man.

Kenneth Phelps was a father. A shit one, but a father still. For all the fear he placed in Travis' heart, he made the thing mourn him too. Is the man dead, rotting, rotten, down in the pit Travis tossed him in? Is he trapped between life and death, a spirit, or is he truly gone?

 _I'll never know,_ he realizes. Or, worse yet, one day, he will.

Darkness has swallowed the earth, dug into it like teeth into a too-soft apple, and yet, still, Travis waits for the end of the world to begin. The ending is here already, but the feeling hasn't gone away. Maybe what he's really worried about is Dogma's teeth, Dogma's hand reaching down to punish him. His father's hand.

What a headache. Travis doesn't want to think anymore.

He rolls over to press his nose into Sal's neck. Disturbed by the movement, Gizmo stirs and bites lethargically at his toe. Sleep doesn't find him again.

-

The blue light slowly goes from cerulean to pink to gold as the sun rises low on the horizon. It shines lazily into the room, lazier still when Sal groans and pulls a blanket over both their heads.

"Angel," Travis says into the dark.

"I know," Sal replies. He sounds tired, but he turns to face Travis anyways, like he always does.

When he presses their lips together, the morning gets exponentially easier to handle. 

Pulling away with a dramatic sigh, Sal forces himself into a wobbly sitting position and stretches his arms high into the sky. Travis follows his lead, rolling his shoulders and willing his tired eyes to stop aching. It doesn't work, but he didn't expect it to.

When Sal gets out of bed, Travis follows. When Sal dresses for the day, Travis follows. When Sal goes to pee, Travis follows. When Sal begins to make pancakes and bitter tea, Travis follows.

When Sal turns around and levels him with a concerned glare, Travis tries very hard to look casual.

"Travis," Sal says in a level tone.

"Yes, dear?"

"Are you okay?"

It would be easy to give another _yes, dear_ and just enjoy his pancakes, but he knows Sal hates it when he does that. The poor man's been left wondering too many times - as his partner, it's Travis' responsibility to be honest.

"I loved him," he says simply. It comes out like an accusation, albeit a gentle one. "Why did he hurt people?"

Leaning against the counter, Sal goes still. He's usually the opposite, prone to swaying and stimming, but now he's frozen. He doesn't reply for a long while - Travis assumes he won't say anything at all - but eventually, he sighs and drops his head.

Then, he whispers, "I wish I knew." He turns back to the stove, his hair a tangled mess of blue curl from behind.

Travis stands. There isn't much else to say, but, he thinks as he wraps his arms around Sal, pressing his chest to Sal's back, _at least I can do this._

No complaint is made. Sal sighs in something between contentment and sadness and leans back against Travis' chest. He understands. Things are as they are and answers are not always to be found. It's a hard truth, but it's the truth nonetheless.

"I loved my father," Travis says again, nose pressed into Sal's hair as if hoping it will muffle the sound. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Everything that happened…" 

Another sigh, this one of cool acceptance. It rolls over Travis almost painfully, that sound. Pulling away and leaving his partner cold, Sal plates their breakfasts, pours their tea. Travis stands and watches, but when they move to sit down, Travis pulls out Sal's chair.

That seems to have been the right move. As he sits, Sal smiles up at him, still so shockingly beautiful and kind and _alive_. Then he frowns. "Everything that happened was his fault, Travis. I hope you know that."

"...I do." He does. He wishes he didn't. "Thank you, Sally."

They eat in silence, but Sal reaches across the table and holds his hand. They have a big day today. And tomorrow. And the next day. But they have each other.

Travis tells himself that over and over as he watches his father fall and fall and fall. _I am not alone._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading 💖💖


End file.
